Blood or honor
by Tilthanial
Summary: A small squad of elite clone commandos face a mission that threatens to drive them beyond their sanity, and their lives. On hold for now.
1. Training at a glance

_"Echo 32, it is time to wake. Please proceed to the cafeteria for your first meal of the day."_

Echo 32 groaned silently and willed his body to obey. Ever since he had left his pod and joined his squad, life had turned sour. The Kaminoans deprived them of sleep, food, and hygiene in their quest to form perfect soldiers. _Not that I care._ He smiled to himself as he donned his uniform. _I'm designed to not care._

His bunkmate, Echo 45, rolled off of his bed and landed lightly beside Echo 32. "Wakie-wakie, Thrasher. I heard that we're going to start live-fire today. It should be fun."

Thrasher chuckled and finished zipping up his grey outfit. "Who, or should I say, what file, told you this?"

Echo 45 stifled a laugh and helped rouse the others. "What are you talking about? Me, honest little me, hacking into the Kaminoans' files? Honestly, you should have more faith in me."

Thrasher cast a sidelong glance at him and opened the door. "I'll take it that they haven't changed the password yet."

Echo 31 snickered evilly and hopped in behind Thrasher. "Oh, they changed it all right, but the module sequencer produced an infrared signature that translated into the code. After that he disarmed a couple of electronic interference security nodes and had free access to our schedule. Got it?"

"Yeah." Thrasher let out a deep breath and led his squad out into the main concourse. In perfect unison they filed though the numerous security terminals and Kaminoan spot-checks. After they had passed the last checkpoint, Echo 31 rolled his eyes at the last Kaminoan officer.

"What is the fifth planet from Coruscant? Really, guys, you'd think that they'd stop asking us that one. I'm asked that one every day."

Echo 86, the last man, kicked him lightly in the knee without losing beat. He growled dangerously in the clone's ear and whispered in a voice barely audible. "Watch it, soldier. They aren't the only ones that scan us." He cocked his head slightly to the side and pointed with his eyes towards a hidden security camera. "Freshly installed yesterday. They have a peak voice pickup range of seventy meters."

Echo 31 mouthed out an "oops" and focused on his team leader's back. Thrasher suppressed a grin as the cafeteria came in view. Times were good.

Thrasher looked out over the sea of heads surrounding him. His team's usual spot had been overrun by a fresh squad of commandos. In vain he searched for a four-seat spot on one of the spotless tables.

"Hey, commando, over here!"

Thrasher instinctively whirled around at the call. A sole clone sat at an empty table that he had overlooked. On second glance, he realized why he had overlooked it.

The clone sitting at the table was a perfect specimen of genetic engineering. Larger than the others by a few solid inches and much bulkier around the chest, the clone had a freak streak a mile long. _Advanced Recon Commando_. Thrasher reluctantly signaled his squad and hunkered down beside the clone.

"Thank you, sir. Finding a place was pretty hard."

The ARC trooper reclined in his seat and nodded. "So I saw. Funny thing, being an ARC is. Everyone seems to either not notice me or cower in fear."

_Not much of a surprise there._ The clone was right. Because of their hyper-secretive nature and advanced genetics, the ARC troopers inspired awe and dread in their lesser comrades. Arcs were a living legend among the rank-and-file clone soldiers.

"Uh-huh." Echo 45 coughed politely and nudged Thrasher. "Excuse me, sir, but could you scoot over some? You aren't giving me much room."

Thrasher took a moment to mull over the request. With a sly wink at the ARC trooper, he slid over away from him, bumping Echo 45 clear off his seat.

"Why sure, Cable. Have a seat."

Cable grimaced at his leader and sullenly took the empty spot by the grinning ARC trooper. The other squad members ducked their heads and shook in silent laughter. Cable glared savagely at them for a moment before adopting a cheerful expression. He rotated the seat towards Thrasher and smiled broadly. "Why, thank you, sir. I always wanted to sit by the brawns in this army."

Thrasher couldn't decide whether to punch Cable or laugh with him as his teammates fell about in unbridled laughter. Then his eyes wandered up to the catwalk where Kaminoan security roamed. He froze as his gaze found _Him_.

Standing tall and proud above the vast ranks of clones and swathed in moist, brown robes, the man stared back, curiosity filling his eyes. Thrasher's spoon fell untouched to his plate as the man's gaze intensified, drawing him in. A foreign touch probed his mind, searching his past.

"Sir?"

Cable's hand came down gently on his shoulder, snapping him out of his revere. Four pairs of anxious eyes looked into his as the men watched him cautiously.

"Sir, what happened?"

Thrasher's only response was to point up to where the mysterious man had stood. Only, now he had disappeared. An odd feeling swept over the commando, chilling him to his core.

"Nothing, Cable. Nothing." The feeling left as quickly as it had arrived. He winked roguishly at his men and dug heartily into his meal. "Last one done has cleaning duty."

"Echo 32, come in. I repeat, come in Echo 32."

Thrasher tried to ignore the hail of blasterfire as he whispered into his comm. "I copy, Advisor. What is the sit rep?"

"Two-dozen battle droids are converging on your location. Advise that you evacuate now."

A near miss caused the comm. Channel to fade out as Thrasher dove from one crate to the next. Cable leaned over to him and pulled him in by his backpack as the droids shot at his back.

"No can do, Advisor. We have wounded under fire. Gamma 71 is out."

"Leave him, soldier. His loss is acceptable. Grab what's left of your command and get out of there."

"I'm not leaving without him. End of discussion." Thrasher switched off the commlink and signaled to Echo 31, the squad's sniper.

"Cover me, Klick!"

The commando slapped a fresh pack into his DC17 and gave Thrasher a thumbs-up.

"I'm on it, 32."

Thrasher waited for his team to draw enemy fire. Satisfied that they had everything under control, he heaved the crate end-over-end and rushed out to the wounded clone. With one hand he dragged him back to safety, with the other he hosed down a pair of battle droids. His teammates helped him behind the crate and discouraged pursuit with a hail of laser fire.

"Advisor, we are clear to evac."

"Negative, 32. The gunship can't land anymore. The LZ is too hot. If you can take out those anti-air turrets, we might be able to come in."

A nav marker appeared in Thrasher's screen as he surveyed the area. Sure enough, three MV-87 turbolaser cannons belched a continuous stream of plasma at the clone gunships. As Thrasher watched, one of the gunships took a direct hit mid-ship, sending it crashing down in between the commandos and the battery.

"Commandos, lets get to that gunship. Thrasher's squad leapt over the protective crates and dashed towards the gunship. Rounding a large pillar, Thrasher came face to face with a squad of battle droids. His wrist-mounted vibroblade snapped out in an instant and he dove into the midst of the droids. Metal shards flew in all directions as he hacked down droid after droid, taking down the entire squad by himself. As the last droid fell, the other squad limped up behind, dragging their unconscious comrade.

Cable and Klick lifted the wounded clone off of the others and patted Thrasher no the helmet.

"Nice knife work, boss. Take out the guns for us. We'll keep 71 alive. Thrasher shook his head absent-mindedly and pointed to the rest of the commandos.

"Right, here's the deal. Gamma Squad will provide covering fire. I'll take Keith and plant the det packs. Move out, teams."

The three commandos left on Gamma Squad saluted and positioned themselves around the gun ship.

"On your signal, 32."

Thrasher lobbed an EC grenade over the gunship. The grenade burst in a spectacular display of electric force, taking down a clump of battle droids. "Fire."

Blue laser bolts peppered the battle droids surrounding the turbolaser cannons as Thrasher and Keith jogged towards the first cannon. The battle droids fell like chaff before the commandos' firepower, allowing a quick and easy placement of the three detonators. The cannons blossomed in a gigantic fireball as the commandos hiked wearily back to the LZ. A pair of gun ships provided them escort back to the base.

Thrasher sighed wearily as he sat down in the gun ship. "Exercise closed."


	2. First Blood

Thrasher blinked against the harsh light and took the proffered seat. His clone advisor shook his head wearily and pointed to the Kaminoan security detail.

"I'd like a word alone with him."

The guards regarded him contemptively for a moment, then bowed and exited the room, heads aloof. When the door slid shut, the advisor exhaled sharply.

"Echo 32, of all the exercises, why'd you have to FUBAR this one? For the sake of the Sith! We had the roddering General present overseeing the operation!"

Thrasher swallowed hard and stood. "Sir, I was not about to let that man die. If we lose men in a training exercise, how many more would we lose in a warzone? The General be screwed! If he really cared, he could come join us on one of our ops."

"Sit down, soldier." The advisor shoved him roughly into his seat. We our shipping out in five days. If it weren't for that, you'd have a hole in your chest for disobeying a direct order."

Thrasher's hands balled into fists as he struggled to maintain a calm demeanor. "Next time you feel like giving that order, go tell the man who got shot. See if he finds it acceptable."

The advisor halted mid-stride. With a resigned sigh he punched the code for the door. "I hope that I will not have to, 32. Believe me, I hope I don't."

The Kaminoan guards reentered the room, carrying a small, handheld device that Thrasher recognized instantly. _Valttech Interrogator_, _model 34._ His gut ran cold as the Kaminoan officers strapped restraining straps around his arms, legs, and chest.

The first Kaminoan uncapped the device. "This will give you a reminder to obey orders next time."

The pain was unbearable.

The gunship felt familiar under his feet as Thrasher boarded the craft. His teammates checked and rechecked their gear as they waited for the go code.

Echo 85, Keith, patted Thrasher on the back as they settled in. "Thought you'd come back. Cable bet me that the Kaminoans would shoot you. I'm pretty sure that he didn't believe that they'd shoot you, though."

Thrasher laughed and kicked Cable in the leg. "Thanks for the support, 45. It's nice to know that I'm missed…" His voice trailed off as a fifth person entered the gun ship.

Clad in hardened leather armor covered over by the customary robes of the Jedi, Aayla Secura cut an impressive and dangerous figure. She brushed past the clones and leaned across the barrier separating the cockpit from the crew deck.

"Is everything ready?"

The pilot shook his head affirmatively and returned his attention to the console before him. Aayla shrugged and glided over to the seat beside Thrasher. As she sat down, she turned to him and said, "Echo 32." It was a statement, not a question. Thrasher guessed that she had already been briefed about them.

"Yes, General?"

She paused uncertainly, as if his response had caught her off guard.

"Take your helmet off."

"Yes General." With a quick flick of his wrist he unsnapped the helmet restraints and placed the helmet on his lap. The scars from his disciplinary requirements still glowed pink along his throat. He coughed uncomfortably and leaned back, trying to conceal the scars in the shadows.

Aayla seemed unfazed by the scars. She chuckled softly to herself and waved her hand over his throat. To Thrasher's amazement, the scars faded from his throat, leaving a fresh layer of untouched skin. He swallowed hard and rubbed his throat in disbelief.

"Thank you, General."

"No problem." She wrapped her lekku around her neck and smiled at the four commandos. "Are you ready for this?"

Cable piped up before the others, responding cheerfully. "Yes we are, General. We've trained for this for months on end."

She hung her head for a moment, and then lifted it, staring Cable right in the eye. "Are you _really_ ready for this?"

Cable fumbled for a reply, flustered that his answer hadn't been right. "Well, we…"

"Stop saying we. I'm asking about you all individually."

Her statement caught the whole squad off guard. The stunned commandos stared at her blankly, not comprehending what she had said.

Thrasher felt that the situation could turn embarrassing for the Jedi, so he cut in before the others. "I'm ready for this. Those clankers want a fight, and, by heck, I'm ready to give them one."

Aayla faced him, recognition dawning on her face. "You're the clone that disobeyed orders to leave his wounded comrade behind, aren't you?"

She stopped his reply with a wave of her hand. "Never mind. That doesn't matter. Loyalty like that should be praised, even if it was a daring, foolhardy maneuver. You would have taken a round to the chest if I hadn't diverted it."

Klick gasped in awe. "So you did that. That scared the crap out of me, that blaster changing course in mid air. I thought I was seeing things."

The gun ship doors slammed shut, blocking out the outside world. A feeling of vertigo encompassed Thrasher's stomach as the shuttle left the hangar. He put his helmet back on and pointed to his teammates.

"Check your weapons one last time. We've got a lot of unknowns on this one."

Aayla gave Thrasher a smug smile as he offered her an airsickness pill.

"Thank you, but I'll be fine. Just take care of your own men."

Keith punched Thrasher lightly on the shoulder. "Time for the last-second review, boss."

Thrasher punched him back and placed a holopad projector on the floor. Schematics of the grounded CIS cruiser played out before the team's visors.

"We insert via rope into this canyon here." A small, narrow canyon popped up on screen. "While the 2nd Division battles around that area, we sneak by into the core ship. Intel says that this ship had a massive engine failure, so we won't have to worry about it leaving while we're on it. We'll sabotage critical structures and gather any intel available. Then we get out any way possible. Any questions?"

Cable raised his hand playfully. "Sir, do we get any heavy support? Say, a squadron of AT-TE's at our beck and call?"

Aayla rose and grasped the overhead handle bar. "You guys get me. I'm coming in because this op needs some brains."

Klick and Keith poked Cable, laughing at him. His indignant expression was visible underneath the near pitch black visor as Aayla winked at him.

"And you need a good comedian."

"30 seconds!" The pilot sounded a tad nervous as he called over the comm. "There's some pretty heavy resistance down there. Good Luck."

Thrasher slapped an ammo pack into his DC17 and gripped his handle nervously. The usual odd feeling accompanying pre-mission jitters had increased substantially over the past five minutes. He willed his lunch to settle down. _It is going to be a long day._

The pilot's voice disrupted his thoughts. "We're over the LZ. May the Force be with you."

The commandos kicked their drop-ropes over the edge and slid down to the battle-strewn floor. Blaster fire hedged them in from all sides as the commandos hastened to set up a make-shift perimeter. Once all of the opposition had been cleared, Aayla hopped off of the gun ship and floated down beside the commandos.

"Report."

Thrasher saluted and pointed off down the canyon. "No enemy resistance encountered towards our objective yet. Recommend we head out now."

"Negative, 32." Echo Squad's advisor commandeered his commlink, announcing out loud, "Delta Squad has already reached your objective. Proceed to the 2nd Division command post for further orders."

"That figures." Keith swore as the red sand clogged his respirator. "Those Delta's were always the star pupils. Oh well, I can live with babysitting duty."

Aayla silenced further discussion with an imperious wave. "Shut up and move, 85. Division HQ is four kilometers away. That makes about an hour of combat." She started off in the direction of the HQ, leaving the commandos behind. Cable shook his head and trotted after her, calling out behind him.

"Nice leader, we've got. I suggest you guys catch up or she'll eat you."

Thrasher frowned under his visor and started off after them, scanning the sky for targets. Everything appeared clear until he rounded the corner. Stopping in his tracks, he gaped at the massive battle unfolding before them on the plains of Geonosis.

Thousands of clones and droids pressed against each other, battling desperately for dominance on the field. Scattered explosions dotted the field, giving it an orange glow. As Thrasher viewed the eerie scene, his teammates caught up. They all stopped and took a moment to pay their respects to their fallen brothers.

Aayla Secura slid up beside them. "Beautiful, in an odd sort of way. This picture is something that you will need to remember when this war drags on. These men are sacrificing their lives for untold peoples."

Thrasher nodded solemnly in agreement. A tear slipped out of his eye, blurring his visor. He shook his head roughly and turned to his team. "Come on, commandos. We have a job to do."

The men slowly tore their gaze from the tableau and followed him down the steep path to the valley floor. All semblance of peace shattered as they reached ground-zero. The ground was carpeted with the dead and dying clones that had fallen under Separatist guns. Aayla shuddered and picked her way through the mass of dead, carefully avoiding the dead men.

Cable sidled up by Thrasher and pointed to the sky. "They've got anti-air turrets over there. That must be what's holding up our air force. Well, that and the millions of droids facing them."

Thrasher laughed humorlessly and reached down to close the eyes of a dead, helmetless clone. "From what Intel said, I'm not surprised. They have a huge cluster of core ships over there."

The advisor popped onto the comm channel, muting all other voices. "Change of plan, Echo 32. We have a downed gun ship just over that ridge to your left. See if you can rescue the crew. Out."

Thrasher sighed and shouted out to Aayla, who was a few meters ahead.

"General, our objective has changed. Go on ahead. We'll be along shortly."

Aayla waved to them and picked up her pace. As the commandos watched her depart, Keith shouldered a fallen rocket launcher.

"Do I look good with this or what?"

Thrasher chuckled and started off towards the ridge. "You'll look a lot better firing it, 85."

Thrasher crouched down behind a boulder as he surveyed the scene. What was left of the crew and passengers had formed a static perimeter around the crashed gun ship. Unfortunately, only three of the men were well enough to actively move from location to location, vastly reducing the clones' firepower. To make matters worse, battle droids were advancing from all sides, peppering their position with a constant stream of plasma.

Thrasher signaled to his team and drew a hasty outline in the sand. "Right, here's the plan. 31 and 85 will provide suppressive fire from up here. Once you've used up your ammo, come on down and join the party. 45 and I will prepare a doormat for you."

The three commandos saluted and took cover behind various boulders. Thrasher waited for the droids to get in range, then he whispered over the comm link, "Light them up!"

Thrasher and Cable sprinted down the slopes, half-sliding and half-jumping. Sniper and rocket round store past their heads, finding targets among the clumped droid ranks. The clones looked on in astonishment as the commandos hit the ground and rolled into upright positions, blasters hosing down the droids with unerring accuracy. As the last droid fell, the ranking clone saluted and extended his hand.

"Thank you, sir. I thought they had us."

Thrasher waved off the thanks and pointed to the wounded.

"Can they walk? We need to get them out now."

The clone shook his head. Pain and sorrow filled his voice. "No, sir. They are all paralyzed from the crash. We tried to contact HQ, but they had their hands full. Can you help?" Hope crept into his voice, despite the training he had gone through.

Keith patted the man on the back. "Of course we'll help. What are commandos for?" He sauntered over to the nearest wounded man. "Where are you hit, soldier?"

The man groaned and indicated his back. His voice was strained as he spoke, as if he was holding in a scream. "My back's all torn up. A sonic round stripped the armor before the crash."

Klick commandeered Thrasher's comm link. "Sir, we need to move, like, right now. I've got a whole platoon in my scope. More are coming behind that one."

Thrasher swore under his breath and pointed to the three unscathed clones. "You, you, and you help Echo 31. Keep our backs covered."

The clones nodded and rushed to assume positions around the lone commando. As they passed Keith, he stopped one and handed him the rocket launcher.

"This will help a bit."

The clone hesitated. "But sir, I didn't qualify to use this in training."

"It's a freaking rocket launcher. Aim for the middle of the group and pull the trigger!" Keith sighed and looked at Thrasher. On a private comm channel he said, "Can you believe this guy?"

Thrasher shook his head and silenced further banter. He shouldered an injured clone and designated three other wounded men. "Let's get these guys out of here."

The commandos hefted the men with the ease of a grown man lifting a toddler. "Roger, chief."

One clone had been left out. He scrambled to his feet and walked unsteadily over to them. His legs gave out at Thrasher's feet, and he fell hard to the ground.

"Sir, don't leave me! I don't want to get caught by those bugs. Please, take me with you!"

Thrasher held the man at arms length, glancing nervously at the incoming droids. Stray blaster rounds began to strike nearby rocks, showering them with white hot shards.

"At ease, soldier. We'll get you out. Follow us as best you can. Once I get these men over the ridge, I'll come back and pick you up."

The man sobbed uncontrollably as a spent round glanced of his armor. He clawed at Thrasher's retreating feet, desperately trying to catch up. As Thrasher struggled to scale the ridge, a flock of Geonosians appeared on top of the ridge. Sonic rounds fell thick and fast around the vulnerable clones, sending them scrambling for cover.

"Cable! Keith!" Thrasher switched the anti-armor attachment onto his rifle. "Grenades up!"

The commandos responded, launching a trio of high-velocity armor piercing grenades at the ridgeline. The evenly placed volley shattered the Geonosians' courage. They retreated, leaving half of their contingent behind.

Thrasher stood up slowly and surveyed the area. One of the wounded clones had taken a pair of the sonic rounds in the chest. His splintered armor hung loosely over his torn and contorted torso. Keith examined the clone for a moment and looked up at his team leader. After a slight pause he shook his head. The clone had died quickly and painlessly.

Thrasher felt anger build up under his armor. With an abrupt wave he ordered Keith to return and take the wounded clone following them. Keith snapped a quick salute and dashed down the slope to recover the defenseless clone trooper.

Together the commandos finished climbing the ridge and deposited the clones on the reverse slope. Thrasher bent down and planted a pick-up beacon on the ground and handed one of the clones his DC17.

"Stay here and wait for evac."

The clone saluted and scanned the sky patiently for friendly fliers. As Thrasher signaled the others to follow him back over the edge, the clone that had followed them tossed his DC15 to Thrasher. He caught it mid-stride and saluted the clone.

"Thank you, soldier. You've done well today."

The clone laughed mirthlessly. "Save your breath for the enemy. I failed my team."

Cable pulled Thrasher away and glanced down at the smoking crash site. "We've got a problem. Klick's been overrun."


	3. The replacement

_Looking in hindsight, Geonosis was a waste. We commandoes were wasted doing things that any company of troops could have done easily. Now that it's over, the whole Republic pays the price of that mistake._

-_Delta 40_ after the battle of Geonosis

As he placed his battered and bloody helmet on the rack, Thrasher winced. A long jagged scar ran down from the top of his chest to his hip from a glancing sonic round. Echo 31's blood covered the side of his helmet from the long trip to HQ. The other commandoes sat back warily as they studied his behavior. Despite his nerves best efforts, he held his emotions in check as he faced his men.

"After the General debriefs us we need to get back to our quarters for an inspection. I want each of you to help me with Klick's gear."

Keith rose from his seat and maneuvered Thrasher into his seat. "Sir, you can rest now. We've been out of the zone for an hour. Calm down and rest."

Keith realized his mistake as Thrasher's fist slammed into his stomach.

"_Rest!_ Rest while our brothers die by the hundreds fighting the droids after the battle is already won? Rest while Echo 31's remains are cremated along with dozens of other commandos that died on meaningless missions on the frontlines? Rest while I ignore the fact that I sent him to his death? Rest whi-"

Tears and pent up emotions burst out of Thrasher in a flood as he buried his head in his hands. Hot tears left lines on his dusty cheeks as a lifetime's worth of sorrow and anger drained out of his body. His cheeks burned in shame as he wept for his men, for his failures, for his…

The debriefing room door slid open. Thrasher wiped tears from his eyes and scrambled to stand up as Aayla Secura entered the room. She returned their salutes wearily and leaned heavily against a chair. Dried blood and gore clung to her body as she absent-mindedly picked bits off of her clothes. Her eyes searched each of the commandos' minds as she waited for one of them to speak.

Keith cleared his throat to get her attention. "General, was this operation a success?"

Aayla bit her lip as she mulled over the question. "In general terms, yes it was a success. However, most of the Confederate army escaped the field, meaning that we have a long and bloody war ahead of us. Personally, I believe that we failed."

Cable choked on his canteen in a poor attempt to conceal his surprise. Wiping water off of his face, he gave he ran indignant look. "What do you mean, we failed? Didn't we do what we were ordered to do? I thought we handled them pretty nicely."

Thrasher cut off Aayla's reply and pulled Cable back into his seat. "She means that we didn't do enough. Our leaders expected us to do what we needed to do, but that wasn't enough. We did our jobs, they didn't do theirs."

Cable mouthed a silent "oh" and grimaced. "So, does that mean we're going to go finish what we didn't do?"

Aayla silenced Thrasher's exasperated answer. "Yes, you'll be finishing your job, but not now. Your unit is off duty for a week in order to meet and familiarize yourselves with Echo 31's," She paused when she saw them wince at his ID number. She thought carefully for a moment before continuing. "…Klick's replacement. I hope that you'll all do well and be easy on him. He lost his whole squad."

Thrasher saluted one final time before standing. As he marched past the Jedi to the barracks hallway, she pulled him aside and whispered in his ear. "Your next mission will be much tougher than this one. Prepare for a jungle fight."

Thrasher gave her a confused look and nodded. "Thank you, General." He turned to leave, but stopped at the door. "Why are you telling me?"

Aayla punched him lightly in the chest as she slipped past him into the hallway. "Because I trust you. After all, you'll be covering my back out there."

Thrasher trailed his men into their room to find a newcomer waiting between the beds. The clone saluted and dropped a rucksack that he was carrying.

"Gamma 71 reporting for duty, sir!"

Thrasher paused to look over the commando and returned the salute with a grim frown.

"At ease, soldier. That bunk on the top-right is open. Drop your stuff there and settle in."

The clone nodded and tossed his pack one-handed onto the bunk. With practiced ease he followed the bag up, swinging onto the bunk and landing in a squatting position. Thrasher and the others exchanged amused glances and went to their respective bunks in a less flashy fashion.

"Sorry about Klick." Gamma 71 lifted his head from his pack for a moment and looked Thrasher in the eye. "He was a great soldier. Saved my life in training, too. All of you guys did."

Recognition dawned on Keith's face as he studied the clone's face. "Oh, shoot. Why didn't I notice you earlier? You're the crazy sop that took that anti-armor round aimed at Klick. How'd your wound heal?"

"It healed." Gamma 71 extended a hand. "My call sign's Sith."

Thrasher blinked stupidly and took his hand. "Sith? You know that's who we're fighting, right?"

"Yeah. But that's what my teammates called me anyway. They said it had something to do with me scaring them with my 'stealth skills.'"

"Right." Cable waited for Thrasher to let go of his hand before shaking Sith's hand vigorously. "Welcome home, Sith."


	4. In the room

_His eyes opened for the first time. Light flooded his vision, blinding his fragile eyes. An urge to cry out in pain rose in his tiny chest, but he subdued the urge. Something inside him held his emotions back, like a wall of iron. The need to cry was there and burned in his body, but he could not cry._

_"Welcome, Echo 32," A voice, the first voice he had ever heard. It sounded cold and harsh, almost painful to listen to._

_"You have much to learn, young one."_ _The voice sounded like it was trying to be soothing, but it only made him scared. The urge to cry rose from within him again, this time stronger than before. His eyes burned from the salt rimming his eyelids. His head began to hurt from the pain of withheld tears._

_"…training starts in two days. We will be expecting you at the infirmary… find your way there…"_

Training? Infirmary? What were those? Who was he? Who was speaking to him?

_"…is all."_

_The voice faded away and the lights turned off, leaving him alone in the dark. Finally, the bonds holding in his tears broke and he felt salty liquids pour down his cheeks, coating him in a comforting wetness. All that mattered was that he was alive._

(Three Months Later)

Echo 32 paused at the doorway, willing his heart to slow down. He could hear the enemies in the other room, waiting for them. As silently as he could Thrasher turned back and looked down the long corridor where his team waited behind him. They watched him anxiously. His hand waved back and forth in a chopping motion and they nodded. One second later his comm channel crackled to life.

"What's inside, Echo 32?" Echo 45, affectionately known as _Cable_, moved his shoulders up and down just in case the channel didn't work.

"Hostile count is unconfirmed, Cable."

Cable crept forward and pulled an optical probe from his belt.

"Let me check, sir." He sidled up to the door and bent down to his knees. With practiced ease he slipped the cable under a miniscule crack between the floor and the door. After a moment of positioning he backed away from the door and waved his hand at the cable theatrically.

"Your probe awaits you, fearless leader."

Echo 32 rolled his eyes inside his helmet and dropped to his stomach. He connected the probe to his helmet and blinked twice at the flashing light that popped up on his screen. The image on his visor changed and he saw through the eyes of the probe.

The probe's vision was scratchy and constantly buzzed with static, but he didn't mind. He saw all he needed. Two hostiles behind an over-turned durasteel table, one flanking the door to his right, one crouched down in a far corner with his rifle trained on the door.

With a sigh Echo 32 disconnected from the probe and pulled it out from the door.

"Four hostiles, Defense Pattern Sigma. You know what to do."

Three green lights blinked on the side of Echo 32's vision. His squad members lined up behind him, weapons ready.

"External dampeners to 75. Echo 31 and 45 prime the shockers." The green lights winked on again and he watched their shadows form up.

"Breaching in 3…2…1…Breach!"

There was a muffled explosion as the breaching charge imploded the door in front of them. Two EC Detonators followed in right behind it.

"Electronic shielding up now!"

Echo 32 didn't have time to catch his squad members' responses as he activated his system's shielding measures. His visor went black and everything shut down, including his suit's air conditioning. A wave of stifling heat overwhelmed him and he gasped for breath inside his suddenly claustrophobic suit. Every fiber in his body started to strain against the heat and he nearly panicked. Then he heard a pair of buzzing explosions.

"Shielding off."

His visor snapped back to life and he entered the room, DC17 aimed at chest height.

Four writhing commandoes lay on the ground. Their agonized cries pierced though the dampener setting on Echo 32's audio system, causing him to wince. His initial reaction was to carry out his orders and finish them off, but something stayed his hand.

"Sir, orders?" Echo 45, nicknamed Klick for his uncanny abilities with the sniper attachment, pushed one of the downed clones over onto his back. His voice cracked in apprehension as he held the muzzle over the clone's helmet. "Permission to engage?"

Echo 32 stood still and watched his men carefully. Despite their Katarn armor, he could tell that none of them were looking forward to finishing the job. After all, these were their brothers.

Conscious of the glaring eyes of his hidden Kamino Supervisors, and knowing full well what was about to happen, Echo 32 shook his head and raised his DC17 up so that it pointed to the ceiling. His squad mates relaxed visibly.

"Negative team. Hostiles are neutralized. Let's get their armor off."

Echo 32 resisted the urge to flinch as he pictured the shock round being fired from an invisible sensor planted somewhere along the ceiling. The round impacted on the nape of his neck and a fiery pain hit every nerve in his body. Only sheer force of will kept him from screaming as he fell to the ground amid the dismayed shouts of his squad members. Mercifully, he fell unconscious when he landed heavily on the floor.

(Present Day)

Thrasher let out a heavy breath as he stared at the ceiling above his bunk. He absentmindedly reached under his body and rubbed his hand across the numerous scars running in parallel streaks down his back. Slight spears of pain lanced across his muscles as he stretched his arm to its limit, counting each individual scar.

_84_.

Eighty-four times that he had been whipped, injected and beaten during his brief tenure as a cadet. It had not been worth it. Nothing would ever be worth those eighty-four interrogations and disciplines.

Thrasher rolled over onto his side and peered up to check on Gamma 71. It had been a few days since Sith had joined his squad and Thrasher had made almost every effort to help him fit in. _Almost every effort_. Thrasher still refused to let Gamma 71 keep to himself the hurt that he had from losing his squad.

"You doing all right there, Sith?"

The answer was disturbingly short and brusque. "Fine."

_Oh, great. He's feeling it again._ Thrasher gripped the bottom of Sith's bed and swung out onto the floor. He reached up and pulled himself up onto Sith's level.

"What's wrong, Sith?"

"Nothing." He was facing the wall and had his head buried in a holobook. Thrasher leaned over to get a good look at the title. _The Mandalore Chronicles: A Life of Honor_.

"Nice. I haven't seen that copy. Did Kal get it for you?"

"Yeah. He said it would help."

"Who's it about?"

"It's about the Mandalore that lived during the days of the Dark Years of Revan."

Thrasher coughed in surprise and leaned further forward.

"Do you mean _The_ Mandalore? As in the one that fought by Revan's side after the Mandalore Wars?"

"The same one, brother."

"Wow." Thrasher slumped off of Sith's bunk and took a seat on Keith's. "Could I see that when you're done?"

"I'll run it through Kal, but he should be fine with it."

"Thanks."

The door slid open and Keith trudged into the room, followed by Cable.

"Hey, Sarge."

"Hey, Cable, Keith."

Keith walked up and stopped directly in front of Thrasher. His face was emotionless.

"You're on my bunk."

"Sorry."

"Not as sorry as you will be." Keith's fist came up like lightning and clouted Thrasher across the chin. He tumbled over off the bed and came up in a fighter's stance, blood streaming from his nose.

"You want some of this? Bring it on, Keith."

Keith swung a fist low at Thrasher's abdomen. Thrasher stepped inside the arc of the blow and brought his fists around in a giant hammer blow. The blow caught Keith in the chest and drove him back several feet. Keith stumbled back and fell on his bunk, eyes watering.

"That felt good."

"Thanks, Keith. Want to try again?"

"Nah, I got my pop in on you for the day." Keith grinned despite the tears in his eyes. "You're still using non-regulation combat tactics to win. Cheater."

Thrasher chuckled and probed his hand cautiously. "That wasn't exactly a clean shot that you pulled yourself. I'd call it even."

"Fine with me." Keith winked at the confused look on Sith's face. He had watched the whole scene and had been split between letting them duke it out or breaking up the 'fight.'

"By the way, the General has called for a mission debrief in three hours in the _Dauntless's_ briefing room. We need to be there. That gives you two hours to clean up that nose of yours."

"Roger that."

Thrasher wiped blood off of his nose and opened the door. He could see the medbay just down the hall. It was still overflowing with wounded from Geonosis.

Some were missing limbs, some were hanging onto life by threads. A handful of medic-qualified clones meandered across the hall, offering aid to those that could be helped. There were too many for them to handle.

"I think I'll just let it bleed out for now, boys."

With one last sorrowful look he closed the door, shutting out the pictures of the injured clones from his mind.


	5. Mission briefing

Forgive the spelling of this chapter. My Microsoft Word's spell check failed for the hundredth time. I've proofread it several times, but mistakes always escape. Send me a review with typos so I can correct them.

_Jungles, the most irritating and deadly topographical location imaginable. Scanners can't read through it, you can't see through it, heck, you can't even shoot through it sometimes. Trust me boys, you don't want to fight in jungles. If you ever find yourself in a jungle, start praying._

_-_Sergeant Kal Skirata during a lecture on the values of cover.

Keith, Cable and Sith filed in behind Thrasher as he entered the briefing room. It had been two weeks since Geonosis, two weeks of long hours in the sim room practicing jungle combat. Thrasher did not want to see another tree for the rest of his life.

Jedi General Aayla Secura faced them from the Officer's podium, along with a man that the clones did not know. While Aayla was clad in the now-usual leather armor that she so favored, the other man was completely different. He wore a full suit of armor that covered every inch of his body from the neck down. Familiar runes and inscriptions traced their way down the armor, giving it a flowing but alien appearance. Underneath the armor was a dark green body suit with numerous pockets located within easy arm's reach. His face was darkly tanned and he had a very non-regulation beard that covered his whole throat. A few faint scars showed along his brow, but he looked in perfect health.

Cable leaned over to Thrasher as they took their seats. "Sir, that is one hardcore soldier."

Thrasher nodded slightly and continued his scrutiny of the man. On closer inspection, he saw that the man stood at a near-still attention stance, his body hardly swaying. He also carried something tucked under his right arm. Thrasher shifted in his seat for a better look. It was a helmet. A Mandalorian helmet. His heart skipped a beat as his mind registered the thought. There was a Mandalorian here! That meant that something interesting was going to happen.

Aayla had been speaking with a clone Commander when the commandos entered. It did not look like they would be done any time soon, so Thrasher surveyed the surroundings.

There were at least a dozen other clones in the room, none commandos. They sat in a cluster, datapads in hand and backs straight against the cold durasteel chairs. Thrasher waved to them casually and grinned as they acknowledged him. The regular clones were stuffy and boring. Fun was the last thing in their dictionary.

A single clone rose from his seat and marched over to the commandos' seats. Thrasher rose to greet him. The clone removed his helmet and saluted.

"Greetings, Echo 32. I am CC-5052, Commander Bly, of the 327th Star Corps, the General's second-in. I will be leading the regular's contingent during the operation."

_Regulars? I thought this was a covert op. What's changed? I hope it's not too bad._

"Glad to meet you, sir." Thrasher returned the salute and extended his hand. Bly looked at it dryly. _So much for hand-shakes._ Cable rose behind Thrasher and leaned forward.

"Echo 45, sir. I'm the second-in for this guy."

"It is a pleasure, Echo 45." Bly bowed his head a fraction before turning back towards his seat. Without a word he marched back and took his seat with the others.

Sith let out a suppressed sigh as the clone's resumed their seats. "He's got issues."

The door to the briefing room slid open again and a clone trooper walked in. This one wore red armor instead of the yellow patterns favored by the 327th. _Interesting_.

The clone paused in the doorway, his helmet turning as he checked the room. After a few seconds he fully entered and headed towards the clones. To Thrasher's surprise though, he grabbed the seat next to Thrasher instead of sitting with the others.

"Captain Deviss, formerly of the Hawkbats Battalion. I'm with the 327th now." He held his hand out warmly. Thrasher grinned and accepted the hand. He shook it vigorously. Something about the clone told Thrasher that this one was special. For one, his arm was much stronger than that of a normal clone's, and his eyes shifted a little bit as he watched Thrasher. Normal clones could stare into your eyes for hours on end; it was creepy.

"Echo 32, Thrasher, at your service Deviss."

The clone settled back in his seat and pointed at Aayla. "So she's the General here. I haven't seen her before now. She's so… strange. I've never seen a female before. Do they all look like that?"

"Maybe. I haven't got the faintest clue." Thrasher jerked a thumb towards Bly. "What eating him, by the way. I thought the officer's were more relaxed then the regs."

"Most are, but not him." Deviss coughed lightly and shook his head. "He's as dry as Geonosis is red. It has something to do with his training, or so I've heard."

"Yeah." Cable reached across Thrasher and extended a hand. "Echo 45, Cable. You said you're from the Hawkbats, right. Are you on special detachment or something?"

"No; my company was wiped out over Geonosis." Thrasher did not need to look to feel Cable's jaw drop. "We were tasked with hitting a cluster of core ships before they could lift off. We got three of them sitting on their fuels pipes, but my squadron was virtually annihilated. I only survived because my ship crashed behind our own lines. We got picked up commandos, just like you guys."

"Oh. I'm sorry for your loss, Deviss."

"It doesn't matter. The past is the past. Those that survive keep on fighting."

Aayla turned away from the clone by her side and faced the seated soldiers, ending all conversation. She looked them each in the eye before starting.

"Commander Bly, Thrasher, soldiers and commandos, Most of you have heard about our mission already."

The hologram projector flicked on and the image of a world popped on screen. Thrasher did not recognize the world, but it looked familiar.

"Despayre. It is nothing more than a penal colony, but the CIS has sent a taskforce to this planet. We have smoe idea why, or at least what they are looking for. Contact with this planet was lost several days ago, so we can assume that the CIS is in full control by now.

"The 327th is tasked with occupying the planet and eliminating the CIS presence. It's as simple as that. For this mission they will be equiped with additional advanced thermal imaging software and shortrange projectile rifles per squad."

Commander Bly rose from his seat and Aayla paused.

"General, why would we need projectile rifles? Our DC-15's have worked adequately against the droids."

"With your permission, General." Thrasher stood up when she nodded. "The jungle's density would render the common DC-15 useless over fifty meters. The rounds would lose power and impact with each branch, leaf, twig that they'd hit; projectiles don't lose any of that as easily. Furthermore, from what my mission debrief has said, this planet is home to some laser-resistant carnivores. I don't know anything that's resistant to a slug round."

"Well put, Echo 32. Thank you for clarification. I did not notice that in my briefing." Bly sat back down, clearly unconvinced. "I have no further questions."

"Good." Aayla cleared her throat and continued. "Elements of the 14th Fighter Command will provide aerial support for this mission. Fleet Command 12 is in charge of blockading the system until the operation is comleted. Any other information that you might need is in the briefing datapad.

"Moving on to the Commando operation…" The hologram flickered slightly and zoomed in on the southern hemisphere of the planet. Two large complexes were highlighted. They were both the size of small cities, spread apart by some two hundred miles.

"These are prison complexes Alpha and Omega. From what we've learned, the CIS forces had made contact with these complexes before we lost communication with the planet. Our guess is that they are planning to release the inmates into the Republic as terrorists or incorporate them into the CIS ranks as officers. Either way, we need to stop them before they can ship them off-planet. If any of them make it offworld, the results could be disasterous."

Sith stood quietly and Aayla stopped. "Pardon me, General, but couldn't we just level the place with an orbital bombardement? It would make more sense to me to blast the place to smithereens."

"We could…and risk blasting any prisoners, guards and information inside." Aayla pushed a button on her hologram projector pad and a datafile slid into place to the left of the images. There were two files. One was of a human male, age fifty-four. The information on him read that he was a weapons designer for BlasTech Industries. The second figure was different. It was a female human, age twenty-one. She was his daughter, according to the file.

"Jason Sol and his daughter, Nerrissa. They work for BlasTech industries in the experimental weapons manufacturing department. Jason is the executive director of the department and has made personal contact with each and every experimental weapon priduced by BlasTech so far. I have no doubt that you can understand the seriousness with which I tell you that his rescue is of utmost importance.

"Master Windu has ordered your unit to find and extract these two if possible. We have no idea why they were there, but it would be a boost to morale if news came out that we had rescued a weapons designer from the CIS forces. Besides, the CIS could easily coerce them into turning their talent to aid the CIS.

"From what limited intel we have, these two are being held in one of the prison complexes. Your job is to find them and get them out. Any other Targets of Oppurtunity are up for grabs. Once you've done that we'll incinerate the complexes. Any questions?"

No one spoke as she watched them carefully. Thrasher could tell that she was searching them, looking for problems or confusion. She waited a moment before acknowledging the man beside her.

"This is Hete Slayder, one of the commando trainers. He will accompany you on this op and provide a more accurate briefing of the current threat assesment. His codename for the operation is Snake Doctor."

Hete took a step forward and nodded to the clones. "Commandos, Commander Bly, I am Hete Slayder. I've had over fourty years of jungle fighting experience from before this war. I hope that my knowledge will aid you in this endeavor.

"One of my comrades will accompany the 327th while I will personally join the commando element. My job is to make sure you know what you're doing once you hit dirt. Simulation training is great and all, but nothing beats the real thing when it comes to jungles."

Hete stepped away from the podium and motioned to the commandos. "Echo 32, if you and your commandos will follow me." He headed towards a door in the back of the briefing room. Thrasher rose and followed him. A hand-scanner was at the door and they waited patiently for it to analyze Hete's hand-scan. Finally it slid open.

"Welcome to the armory, gentlemen." Hete stood to the side and waved them in. They entered in one at a time. Thrasher was impressed by the array of weapons inside. The room was filled with weapon racks and scrates of ammuntions. Crates of detonators and EMP grenades lined one of the short walls to their right. On the far side of the room sat a handful of experimental BlasTech X-17 chainguns.

"Take what you need. I ordered it all specifically for this op."

Thrasher strode directly to the stack of chainguns. He lifted it onto his shoulder and nodded satisfactorily. It was light and his helmet automatically integrated with its internal computer, aligning the sights and giving him the heating meter that controlled the firing mechanism.

"Nice tech here. What'd it cost to get this stuff?"

"Not much." Hete patted him on the back and touched a blinking light on the side of the chaingun. "This baby is run on an internal cooling system. It generates its own energy via a tiny generator located just above the shoulder guard. It can handle sustained firing for up to a minute at a time. Keep it running too long and it will overheat. The cool-down time is about twenty seconds. Don't get caught overheated in a firefight; you'll be a sitting duck with this hunk on your shoulder."

"Roger that, sir." Thrasher set the weapon down and looked pointedly at Keith. "Hey, 86, this one's our type."

Keith walked over slowly, judging the weapon with feigned disinterest. "I don't know, Thrasher. I think Cable would like it more."

A deactivated detonator bounced off the back of his head. Cable's indignant voice followed close behind.

"In your dreams, 86. I'm stocking on the boom-sticks. You guys have fun with your fancy pea-shooters. I've got the real stuff right here."

Keith and Thrasher turned to examine Cable. He was posing heroically with one foot on a container of detonators. A half-dozen bandoliers of thermal tape, detonators and other explosive instruments were slung around his torso. He eyed them with mock distain from his place. "What do you mortals want?"

"Funny, Cable. Real funny. Now shift your butt and lets stock up on stuff that we might need. Optic probes, thermal and infrared scanners, RAM nets, anything that could be useful in a jungle."

Sith dumped several armloads of material onto the table. "Got it all right here, 32. probes, scanners, a GPS, a brace of cortosis shields…"

"Cortosis! What the frack is that doing here?" Thrasher turned to Hete, who was standing in the doorway. "Where'd you get that."

"I found it… somewhere. It doubles as a lightweight energy shield. Very quiet, very effective. Lightsabers aren't the only thing that it works against. They're also razor sharp, so you could go hand-to-hand with it easier than you could with your knives. It cuts through droid like a vibro-blade through caf."

Keith picked up the shields and offered them to Thrasher. "You take the 'tosis, sir. After all, you're the most likely to go duke it out with the tinnies."

"Thanks, Keith." Thrasher slid the shields onto his arm and adjusted them to avoid his glove-knife. "They feel like they were made for me."

Hete patted him on the back and held up a modified DC-17. A short-barreled energy-shotgun had been installed in front of the magazine slot. "This baby will help in the close encounters. You can take down just about anything with this."

Thrasher looked at it for a moment and grinned. "I'll take it."

"Good." Hete pointed to the door and held up a datapad. "Here are the mission specs for you to review. We'll lift off in five hours."

Thrasher accepted the datapad and saluted. The operation codename read _Blood or Honor._


	6. The Invasion Begins

The dropship's interior was as black as the void as they descended to the ground. TacCom had ordered for the dropships to be sealed airtight so as to minimize casualties from the flak. On paper it was a good idea, but what looks good on paper works horribly in reality. Thrasher had never felt claustrophobic in his life before now. Strapped down on the bench, with explosions and screams filling his radio, he desperately wanted to see what was going on. He wanted to shoot something, not sit here with a blank wall in front of him.

A large explosion rocked the dropship, shaking it so hard that the two clone troopers sitting beside Thrasher were thrown to the floor. They grumbled in annoyance and resumed their seats, perfectly calm. It unnerved him to see his comrades so steady. They were one shot away from a fiery death in the atmosphere, and the regulars were as calm as they were back in barracks. They were too calm.

"Thirty seconds," the pilot announced. "Expect a hot LZ."

_No, really?_ The dropship lurched violently to the side, this time with enough force to throw Thrasher off the bench too. He landed heavily on his side and swore. To his left, he heard a horrid screeching noise. He looked up in time to see the doorway get ripped from its welding by a hail of flak. Suddenly the dropship was filled with light and he could look out.

Hundreds of Republic dropships were descending on the planet Despayre. Sepratist flak and fighters were there to greet them. Dozens of dogfights had erupted among the transports ships as droid trifighters blazed away at everything that moved while the clone fighter pilots shot them down with merciless precision. There were lots of casualties though. Even as Thrasher looked out the window a dropship just to their port took a direct hit. The dropship split in two just behind the cockpit, spraying flames and hydraulic fuel in all directions. A dozen screaming bodies tumbled out of the ship and fell thousands of meters down to the jungle floor. Thrasher felt anger building in his chest as he watched the bodies fall. Everyone of those men was his brother.

The dropship rocked back and forth as the pilot manuvered to evade antiair fire. He moved the dropship through the flak field as if it were a dancer, dodging hard rounds and slipping between expanding fields of the lighter spreads. It amazed Thrasher to see his skill. The moves that this pilot were pulling off were phenomenal, even for a clone pilot. It was as if the dropship was an extension of the pilot's will.

"Dust off in ten."

The dropship broke through the flak field and dropped altitude to treetop level. It hovered there for a bare second while the pilot looked for a clear landing point. Seeing one, the dropship shot forward, evading handheld rockets and small arms fire. It settled in a meter off the ground, giving them a short jump to the ground. The clone troopers leapt off first, firing and finding cover as they had been trained. Half of them died before they had two feet firmly on the ground.

Thrasher jumped off the other side of the dropship, the side that did not have droids on it, and checked his ammunition again. His modified DC-17 was loaded and ready to roll. As soon as the dropship took off, he charged into the fray, firing at targets and dodging behind cover.

A trio of the troopers broke out from the hail of fire and advanced to an overturned speeder. They crouched down behind it and laid down suppresive fire on the droids up ahead. That was their first mistake. Droids do not run for cover when lasers start snapping past their heads. They are not intimidated by incoming fire. Their second mistake was hiding behind an unexploded speeder. Judging by the puddle of fuel dripping out of the engine, it was chock full of oil. And when those things went off, they really went off.

Thrasher swore as a stray round set off the fuel. The speeder and the clone troppers disappeared in a blazing inferno. Thrasher shot their flaming bodies to be sure that they were dead. As bad as he felt shooting his comrades, it was a far better fate than burning to death. Once he was sure they were dead, Thrasher hunkered down behind a metal container and checked his GPS. The dropship had let them off near a pair of antiair emplacements. Each emplacement held a heavy flak cannon and a brace of the lighter flak guns. One of those emplacements alone could wreak havoc on the invasion.

After a glance at his allies, Thrasher peeked out from behind cover and squeezed off a burst at a cluster of SBDs. His roudns sparked off their armor, causing minor damage. The droids turned to face him however, and they all leveled their blaster cannons on his position. That gave the remaining four clone troopers the break they needed. While three of the clones opened up with their DC-15s, the fourth pulled out an EMP grenade and hurled it at the cluster. The droids collapsed as the energy release overloaded their systems. With those droids cleared, the clones advanced, firing in staggered groups while they worked their way forward. Thrasher rose and joined them, offering his bulkier, more protective armor as a shield to his lighter-armored comrades. Together the five clones fought their way to the edge of the first emplacement.

The emplacemetns were standard Sepratist constructions. A square kilometer of bulldozed, trench-sided ground with the three antiair cannons in a triangular pattern. Crates and containers of ammunition littered the area, creating lots of explosive cover. The clones hopped into the trench and huddled low to discuss their plan. Thrasher listened in vaguely, but his main focus was on the invasion force. Even as they planned their assault, another two dropships exploded high in the sky above them.

"Sir," the ranking trooper tapped him on the shoulder. He did not need to do that, his radio picked up the voice just fine, but the regulars always acted different around the non-regulars. It was as if they had to constantly convince themselves that they were really there.

"We will assault their position with a Theta-Flanking plan."

"Bad idea." Thrasher leaned up to catch a glimpse of the emplacement. "There are too many explosives lying around. You and your men would be torn to shreds before you got close."

"Do you have a plan?"

"Yeah." The clones flinched at the casual word. "How many grenades do you have?"

"We have seven EMP detonators and a thermal apiece."

"That'll do." Thrasher pointed to a nearby ordinance container. "I want one thermal on that container. The explosion should set off a chain reaction that will clear out most of the ammunition. It might even destroy one of the guns. Once that is cleared we can advance through that depression." He indicated a shallow ditch running perpendicular to their position. "From there we can get close enough to the guns to EMP them."

"On your mark then."

"Right," the clones lined up against the trench. One of them, Thrasher recognized him as the one who tossed the EMP grenade at the SBDs earlier, pulled a thermal detonator out of his ammunition belt. He primed the grenade and held his position, waiting Thrasher's order. "Execute!"

The clone trooper sprang to his feet and cocked his arm to throw. The other clones and Thrasher rose to a half-crouch and scanned the area for targets. Time slowed to a crawl as Thrasher swept the area with his rifle. _No target, no target, no… frack! Droid sniper_. It had them in its sights and it was out of his rifle's range. That was the one drawback of his DC-17. The modifications made the standard antiarmor and sniper attachments incompatible. He couldn't reach it. All he could do was pray.

There was a flash of red light and Thrasher's visor automatically darkened. Several of the clones screamed something that he could not understand. He did not feel a thing, but a second later there was a loud explosion and he was thrown to the ground. His visor untinted and he got a look at the damage.

One of the clone's was dead, a gaping hole in his helmet. His body was sprawled against the edge of the trench, his rifle slung over his shoulder. _The grenadier_. The other three clones were picking themselves off the ground. Black scorch marks marred their white armor.

Thrasher pulled himself to his feet and picked up his fallen DC-17. "Status report!"

"Delta 312 is dead, sir. He was shot as he let go. The thermal detonator missed its target."

Thrasher glanced over the lip of the trench and winced. The grenade had landed far short of the container. Droids were beginning to funnel their way, drawn by the blaster fire and the explosion.

"Now would be a good time for another plan, sir. Do you want to try it again?"

A second sniper shot lit the air. The round glanced off of Thrasher's helmet with enough force to knock him back a step.

"No good, that sniper's got us zeroed in. We need to take him out."

"My men can flank its position and flush it out," the clone offered. "You can pick it off from here."

"That wont work. My DC doesn't have the sniper mod. I can't hit it from this range."

The clone's shoulders slumped a little. That was one of the most expressive things Thrasher had ever seen a regular do.

"We need to take those guns out, sir." The clone's voice had a desperate edge to it, something that he had never heard before. "Our brothers are getting shot down in the sky above us."

"We'll get it, don't worry."Thrasher risked another look. The area was swarming with droids now. Thankfully, there were no SBDs in sight. "I have an idea. I need two of you to stay here and be ready to grenade the container on my mark."

"Yes sir." The clone looked at the other two and said something on their squad channel. The clones nodded affirmatively. "These two will stay behind. What do you want me to do?"

"You and I will flank them aruond the trench system. I lead, you provide overwatch. Once we get close enough we can pop it from the side."

"Sounds good, sir."

"Alright then. Follow me." Thrasher pointed to the other two clones, who were eyeing the approaching droids impassively. "Covering fire on my mark."

"Fire!"

Thrasher grabbed the lip of the trench and hoisted himself up. Laser fire splashed all around him, but the droids were too far away for their shots to do any real damage. He did not have to worry about anything but the sniper. Speaking of which…

_Bam_!

He staggered to the side as a sniper round slammed into his arm. The cortosis blade absorbed most of the energy, but his arm burned like it had been hit with a hammer. He grunted off the pain and charged towards the next trench, finger pumping the trigger. A handful of his rounds hit their targets, but none of the droids went down. The clone trooper followed his every step, doding fire and plodding forward with the determination of one bred for battle. A spent round glanced off his thigh armor, spinning him around, but he scrambled to his feet and kept going, hosing down the droids with his DC-15. They dove into the trench a few feet ahead of a shoulder-fired rocket. The rocket tore a gaping hole in the ground where they had just been.

"Right," Thrasher gasped, gulping for air. "Let's go."

They set off down the trench, Thrasher at a halfcrouch with his gun resting against his shoulder, the clone a step behind, covering the top of the trench. A pair of droids jumped into the trench ahead of them, but a single round from the DC-17 shotgun attachment left them lying in pieces in the mud. The other droids were still shooting at the two clones back at their original position. The two clone rifles could barely be heard over the thunderous roar of the droid firepower.

"Just a few more meters," Thrasher said into his radio as they neared the spot where he had seen the sniper. A wave of fire washed over the trench as an air-to-surface rocket exploded among a cluster of droids near the trench. The heat caused Thrasher's shields to flare, flashing opaquely as they fought to stem the rush of heat. "Here we go, he should be…" Thrasher pictured the area in his mind and pointed through the trench wall, "there. Fifteen meters. EMP the bolthead."

"Will do, sir." The clone pulled an EMP grenade out of his belt and flicked the trigger. On the count of three they rose. Thrasher fired at the nearest droids, cutting down three with shots to their power packs. The clone trooper's grenade soared through the air and landed among a jumble of crates. A wave of static hit their systems as the grenade went off. Thrasher waited a second for the EMP to die out. Then he jumped out of the trench and charged into the crates. He found a short-circuited sniper lying amid the crates. He shot its rifle once to disable it and turned on his tactical radio.

"Sniper down, you are green for the grenade."

The clone troopers confirmed his message with a series of clicks and Thrasher ran back for the trench. Three seconds later a massive explosion shook the ground. Several more explosions rocked the area as the ordinance containers detonated. The explosions lasted for a whole minute before the noise died off.

"Good job, troopers." Thrasher said. His ears were ringing so hard he was shouting into the radio. "Let's go get those guns."

Only two green lights winked on his HUD. He turned to the clone at his side, frowning. "What's up with your squadmates?"

"One moment." The clone switched radio channels and held his head to his helmet. An unnecessary act, but one that showed he was actually checking. He stayed like that for a few seconds.

"Delta 310 is wounded, sir. He cannot move from his position."

"Where did he get hit?"

Another pause. "In the stomach, sir. His vital signs are low."

"Does he need evac?"

"No sir. His condition is stable."

"Good. Tell…"

"Delta 314."

"Tell Delta 314 to haul his boots over here. We'll take the gun positions as a threesome."

"Roger that." The clone activated his squad radio and ordered Delta 314 over. The clone hurried over, stopping only to finish off disabled droids. While he approached, Thrasher looked over at his comrade. The clone's armor was scorched black across his chest. Burn marks covered his legs from glancing shots. He looked like a range target after a shooting contest.

"What's your number, trooper?" he asked the question casually. The clone started at the question.

"Delta 318 sir."

"You're doing good, 318. You seen action before?"

"First time outside the simulaters, sir."

"Well, you're doing fine."

Delta 314 jumped into the trench. Thrasher saw that he was cradling his left hand. Blood seeped out from between his armor plates.

"I took a piece of shrapnel to the hand, sir." He explained. Thrasher scanned the wound with his helmet and saw that it was not serious. "It will not be a problem."

"Good." Two flak cannons boomed nearby. "Time to go spike some guns."

The three clones climbed out of the trench and advanced on the gun positions. One of the lighter flak guns was a smoking wreck. Its barrel had been snapped off in the explosions. The targeting computer was a pile of debris. That was one down.

A handful of droids were still operable in the emplacement. Most of the droids had been destroyed or damaged by the inferno that had been set off. Thrasher finished off damaged droids with single shots to the head, burning their computers.

"Contact, one SBD and three tinnies, one wet."

_One wet._ The droids had an organic officer. He had to be taken care of quickly. As long as he was issuing orders, the droids would operate more effectively.

"Take cover behind those crates." Thrasher pointed to a stack of parts-containers to their left. "We'll surprise them."

An SBD rocket clipped past them, ricocheting off the ground. They scrambled for cover, firing blindly at the SBD.

"Scratch that, we'll do this the old fashioned way." Thrasher pumped a round into his shotgun. "You two keep them busy; I'll flank them and frag the droids.

The clones nodded and shouldered their weapons. They rose to a kneeling position and opened fire on the SBD. Their rounds had little effect on the armored droid. It returned their fire and advanced, plodding forward one step at a time.

He slipped off around the stack of crates, crouching and moving slowly. Some of the droids were equipped with rudimentary motion sensors. If he moved slow enough he could avoid setting them off. The blaster fire behind him increased as he snuck around the cover. The other droids must have joined the battle.

Thrasher rounded the final corner, weapon at the ready. He paused when he saw what was in front of him. The droids had their backs to him. They were oblivious. Even better, their organic commander was just ten feet away. It was a human, decked out in Separatist gear. He was issuing orders to the droids from behind a shielded mini-bunker. A computer console was at his side. It looked like a targeting computer.

Silently congratulating himself for his luck, Thrasher advanced on the unsuspecting human. He approached to within a foot before the human noticed him. The officer let out a muffled swear as Thrasher's cortosis­­­ blade slashed across his throat. He moaned in pain and collapsed on the floor, convulsing wretchedly as spasms of pain wracked his body. Thrasher took up the human's original position and trained his DC-17 on the droids. The droids had paused, disoriented by the loss of their leader. While they hesitated the two clone troopers leaned out from their cover and shot down a cluster of droids. The droids, immediately returned fire, and one of the clones fell back clutching his shoulder.

The SBD turned back towards Thrasher's position, curious as to why its commander had stopped sending it information. Thrasher shot it in the face from only a dozen feet away. The droid stumbled backwards from the impact, its arms waving in an attempt to keep its balance. One of the clones took the opportunity to shoot its legs out. The SBD fell to the ground, arm cannon firing aimlessly. He then tossed an EMP grenade at the mini-bunker. The EMP detonated in a brilliant flash of blue. The computer sparked and died quietly.

Thrasher finished off the other droids with a few bursts and advanced on the fallen SBD. The droid clawed at his feet as he stepped into its view. He shot it again to finish it off.

"Status report."

"Delta 314 is wounded. He took a shot to the shoulder the SBD. He is stable, but his arm is useless."

_Useless? It's a miracle his arm is still attached to his body. SBD rounds could tear whole limbs off._

"Roger that. Are you green?"

"Ready to move on, sir. My visor's gone, so I'm ditching the helmet." The clone's voice disappeared on Thrasher's radio. He next heard the clone's voice coming from their position. "Let's get this over with."

Thrasher reloaded his rifle and pumped another shell into his shotgun. Delta 318 strode into view, carrying Delta 314's grenades on a belt slung bandolier-style across his shoulder. With his battle-scarred armor and grim expression, he looked like a holovid action hero. Thrasher admired the clone trooper's guts. In his mind it took a special kind of crazy determination to fight without a helmet. Yet here the clone was, continuing the fight despite losing his most valuable piece of equipment.

"You sure you're good with this?"

"Yes, sir."

The clone commando regarded the trooper for a moment, sizing him up. "Right then," he finally agreed. He turned toward the guns, temporarily silent as their central targeting computer had been neutralized. The droid guards milled about uncertainly, waiting for orders. Thrasher braced his gun against a crate and settled his sights on a clump of droids. He wished he had a grenade launcher with him.

"Sir, that's a long shot and there's no more cover." Delta 318 set his own gun up beside Thrasher's. "Got any ideas?"

"A few." Thrasher scanned the area, looking for volatile containers. He found a stack of them near the heavy cannon. Two droids were taking rounds straight from the containers and loading them into the cannon. _Perfect_.

"How good is your arm?"

"Sir?" The clone gave him a confused look.

"How far can you chuck one of those?" he pointed to the thermal detonator in his belt. "Think you can reach that gun?"

"From here? It is five meters outside of my range, sir." The clone shook his head.

"That's close enough. What's the blast radius on that?"

"Ten meters, standard issue."

"That puts those containers well within the blast then."

Delta 318's confused look melted from his face. His eyes lit up excitedly. "Roger that, sir. Just say when."

"Right now."

Delta 318 armed his detonator and primed it. He cocked his arm back to throw and, giving a grunt, hurled it as far as he could. The detonator sailed through the air, flashing silver in the sunlight. The droids followed its path, their computers calculating its threat value. While their backs were turned Thrasher opened fire. His blaster fire caught three droids in the back. Shards of metal flew in all directions as they toppled over.

The cannon exploded in a spectacular display of fireworks as the thermal detonator and ammunition containers blew up. The firing chamber disintegrated from the blast. Wreckage and debris flew in all directions. _Two guns down_.

Delta 318 opened up with his DC-15, and together they finished off the remaining guards. The third gun was undefended. All the droids had been eliminated. Thrasher planted some thermal tape on the breech and they retreated to a safe distance before detonating it. This last explosion seemed anticlimactic. The flak gun fizzled and dropped to the ground with a dull thud. The area was cleared.

Thrasher marked the emplacement as neutralized on the Tactical Battlenet. He breathed in deeply when a reply came from FleetCom. In the sky above the majority of the dropships turned their way, descending towards the pacified LZ. The two clones returned to Delta 314's position, still alert, but slightly relaxed. The battle was still raging on elsewhere, but their objective had been achieved.

Delta 314 had patched himself up as best he could in their absence. He had torn off his rifle sling and fashioned it into a makeshift sling. He rose to his feet as they approached and threw a salute with his uninjured arm.

"Mission accomplished?"

"Mission accomplished." Thrasher patted him lightly on his shoulder, careful to not put much pressure on it. His helmet scanner showed him the extent of the clone's injuries. He had lost a lot of blood for a laser wound, but the trooper had used the bacta from his medpack to stop the bleeding. The rest of his body looked fine.

"You soldiers did well today." The commando offered him a shoulder to lean on and they set off for the final member of their squad. Dropships were already touching down. Dozens of clone troopers emerged from the dropships and headed their way, weapons at the half-ready position. Some of them recoiled at the sight of the trio. The two troopers were covered in blood, oil and blaster burns, and Thrasher could only guess how imposing he looked. Glancing down at his chest plate, he saw lots of blood sprayed on his armor from the human he had killed. He would need to wash that off.

A pair of medics approached them tentatively, and Thrasher relinquished his hold on Delta 314. When one of the medics approached him, he waved him off and pointed to the trench where they had left Delta 310.

"We've got a man seriously wounded in that trench. Stomach wound, minimal internal damage. Go patch him up and evacuate him."

The medic saluted and rushed off to the trench. Some more medics followed him, and soon they were carrying Delta 310 back to a waiting dropship on a stretcher. Thrasher felt a measure of pride rise in his chest as he saw Delta 318 at the dropship. He was arguing with an officer about going back into the fight. The officer wanted him to go back to the ship for debriefing and to reequip, but 318 was adamant about staying planet-side.

Thrasher wandered closer to hear them.

"I am perfectly capable of continuing, sir." 318 was saying. "Just give me another helmet and I'll be good to go."

"Negative, 3118." The officer replied. His face was unreadable behind his helmet, but Thrasher could sense the frustration in his voice. Clone officers hated it when the troopers disobeyed orders or refused to cooperate. "You are wounded and your equipment is damaged. Return to the ship now for debriefing. You will be sent back down later with an ad-hoc unit when enough men are assembled."

"Sir, I…" 318's voice faltered and he nearly lost his balance. He looked exhausted, even though they'd only been in the fight for less than an hour. He cast Thrasher a pleading look.

"Head back to the ship," Thrasher advised. "You need the rest."

Delta 318's face slumped in defeat, but he saluted the officer and Thrasher. Rifle in hand, he climbed aboard the medevac dropship and found a spot on a bench.

The officer looked over at Thrasher and nodded. "Thank you, commando. Did you see much action here?"

Thrasher turned around to view the battlefield. Smoking crates littered the area. The bodies of nine dead clone troopers and the scores of wrecked droids were a grim reminder of the battle. A civilian would have called this a bloodbath. Thrasher considered it a minor skirmish.

"We saw a little." He answered. The officer nodded again and returned to his duties, not willing to engage the commando in any more conversation. None of the regulars felt comfortable around commandos or ARCs when lasers were not flying. He did not feel comfortable around them either.

His squad radio crackled to life, startling him. "Hey, Thrasher, I see you cleared out an LZ. We're coming down."

Thrasher looked up at the sky. The battle for the air had calmed down remarkably. The volume of Separatist fire had decreased dramatically. The larger troop transports were now making their way planet-side. They had established a foothold on Despayre. Now they just had to find the scientist.


End file.
